


A voice of music in the rustling of the leaves

by tumtummeke



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Profanity, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Canon Compliant, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumtummeke/pseuds/tumtummeke
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier get attacked by a group of bandits. Jaskier gets hurt, and when Geralt grabs him and flees the scene, he leaves Jaskier’s lute behind. That turns out to be a shit decision.Featuring: pining Geralt, owns-several-brain-cells Yennefer, and non-human Jaskier.Not featuring: canon.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 341





	A voice of music in the rustling of the leaves

**Author's Note:**

> I’m old, so I have to say this: I don’t own the Witcher, and I’m not making any money off this.
> 
> Thank you, Kermitty, for the support and proofreading (Yes beta, we don’t want Renfri to die).

Geralt looks up with a smile when he hears Jaskier snoring softly to his right. It is a lovely evening: mild and clear. The stars and the crescent moon shine down on their camp, and they, together with the softly crackling fire, illuminate Jaskier's face. He is slumped against a rock and holds his lute in his arms. His head has fallen slightly to the side.

Geralt gets up from where he was reorganising their inventory. They hadn't travelled today, but instead used their time to enjoy the sunny weather. Jaskier had washed their clothes and collected handfuls of wild berries, whilst Geralt worked on brewing some of his witcher potions. In the evening he had caught a pair of rabbits for dinner. As he was preparing and cooking them, Jaskier had set to working on his lute, chattering mindlessly as he cleaned it, and ever so gently burnishing it with a bit of oil. After dinner, he had played a few melodies before, apparently, falling asleep.

Putting the apples he dug up from one of the saddlebags to the side, Geralt sighs and gets up. He walks over to Jaskier, marvelling at the way the moonlight perfectly frames his face. He kneels down and carefully removes Jaskier's doublet, manoeuvring him into a more comfortable sleeping position. Jaskier keeps a tight hold on his lute, pulls it towards his chest and curls around it.

Geralt's eyes soften as he pulls a blanket over Jaskier, before sitting back down. His bard is still so young, inquisitive, careless, and full of energy and wonder, but he treats his lute like it’s his baby: always prioritising it and being painfully careful with it. Geralt doesn't think he's ever seen Jaskier fall asleep without cuddling his lute. He knows Jaskier is a very tactile person. He supposes he cuddles the lute because he doesn't have a person to wrap himself around. Geralt puckers his lips as he considers Jaskier holding him like that, but immediately lets go of the notion. Why would Jaskier ever want to hold him? He pretends he doesn't feel disappointed.

-

Lost in his thoughts, he only notices the bandits when they are nearly upon them. Cursing under his breath, he grabs his sword and leans over to wake the bard. "Jaskier," he grumbles, shaking the man by the shoulder. Jaskier blinks up at him, confused, and mumbles something. Geralt shushes him. "Bandits. Be quiet. Take Roach and hide in the woods." Jaskier yawns and rubs his eyes, clearly not understanding the seriousness of the situation. "Now, Jaskier!" Geralt drags him to his feet and pushes him towards the horse. He doesn't wait to see if Jaskier listens to him, because he hears multiple people approaching behind him. He spins around, nearly tripping over the lute that is left lying there, and comes face to face with several heavily armed people.

"What do you want?" he grumbles, but before he's even done speaking, one of the bandits has already fired a crossbow at him. He reflexively slaps the bolt out of the air with his blade. Not talkers, then, and attacking to kill. He considers his options and decides to try and knock them out. The two of them can be well out of the way by the time these bandits wake up with a headache tomorrow. He moves towards the man closest to him, evades his blade and manages to slam the pommel of his own sword into the man's temple. He crumples into the dirt, and Geralt moves on to his next target. He successfully knocks out three more of the bandits, but is stopped in his tracks when he hears a sharp gasp.

Shit.

That damned moon keeps lighting Jaskier’s face perfectly, and the fear he sees in his eyes makes something tighten in his stomach. Fuck. He takes stock of the situation. It’s not looking good. There are at least a dozen bandits still on their feet, and he can both see and smell Jaskier’s blood. There is a red stain on his chest, near his heart, and he thinks he sees a dagger in Jaskier’s thigh. He takes a step in Jaskier’s direction, and at the same time, Jaskier sways and falls to his knees.

He makes a decision. There is no way he can win this fight without losing Jaskier. They need to get the fuck out of there. He swings his sword around behind him, no longer caring for sparing the bandits’ lives, and is rewarded by several pained shouts. Geralt makes a beeline for Jaskier, cutting down anyone in his way and only stopping to grab the pouch containing the bandages and salves from where it still lies by the fire. He decapitates the man that hurt Jaskier with a swift stroke and a snarl, and hurls a dagger into the archer’s throat, before kneeling down by the bard. “Can you stand?”

Jaskier whines his name pitifully and looks up at him with those big, frightened eyes. Geralt gently picks him up and whistles for Roach. Somehow he manages to get them both onto the horse without being killed, but just before he presses his heels into Roach’s flanks, Jaskier falls to the side. Geralt grunts, grabs him and pulls him back up, and Jaskier immediately falls to the side again. Geralt frowns when he hears Jaskier mutter “My lute, Geralt”, and pressing down as if to dismount.

At that moment, a crossbow bolt whizzes over their heads. “We need to move.” Geralt makes Jaskier hold him by the waist, and grabs one of his arms to make sure he stays on the horse, using his other hand to lead Roach in the right direction. He urges her into a gallop. Jaskier keeps struggling. “My lute.” He takes a few ragged breaths. “I need…”.

The time passes and Jaskier’s struggles grow fainter. The back of Geralt’s shirt is wet with blood by the time they reach the village, from where Jaskier is slumped against him, still mumbling protests about the fucking lute. Yes, Geralt feels bad for having left it behind, but surely Jaskier values his life more than his lute?

They make their way to the stables and dismount. As soon as his feet hit the ground, Jaskier seems to get more energy, as if he is now in a position to make a run for it and go after his lute by himself. Geralt rolls his eyes, and picks Jaskier up again. The fight seems to leave him immediately. Geralt huffs, and carries Jaskier into the tavern. Thankfully there is a room available, and the innkeeper promises to send for the healer immediately.

-

Geralt carries Jaskier up the stairs and into their room, and lowers him gently onto the bed. He goes downstairs to collect a bucket of warm water and a cloth, places them besides the bed and carefully takes off Jaskier’s shirt. There is quite a lot of blood, all coming from a gash over his heart. Geralt doesn’t think it’s too deep; Jaskier would have bled out by now if it were. It seems that the knife hit a rib. He wets the cloth and gently starts dabbing at the wound. Jaskier moans softly and tries to move away from the touch, but Geralt doesn’t let him. When the wound is clean, he stitches it up, earning more pained moans, and covers it in an antiseptic ointment and a bandage.

Next he looks at Jaskier's thigh. The dagger is still in there, and he doesn’t dare remove it until the healer has arrived, so he looks the bard over for other injuries. There are a few shallow cuts and bruises on his arms and hands, and Geralt treats them all, taking extra care for the ones on his hands. He knows how much Jaskier relies on those.

As he’s working on Jaskier's hands, the healer walks in. She introduces herself and takes a look at his work so far, seeming pleased with his ministrations. Geralt clears his throat and nods at the knife, still stuck in Jaskier's thigh.

“A good thing that you left it in,” the healer says. Geralt resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s not an idiot. He lets her work on Jaskier's leg, and moves to sit on a chair next to the bed. He studies Jaskier's face. The bard looks pale. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his eyes are blinking faintly, their normally vibrant blue dulled and flat. Geralt strokes his hair and grabs his hand as the healer starts stitching up the leg wound. Jaskier squeezes it faintly and Geralt hears his breath hitch, but he’s no longer trying to move away. A tendril of dread settles in Geralt's stomach.

The healer gets up and announces that Jaskier should be fine with a bit of rest. Geralt thanks her and pays her, and she leaves. He looks back at Jaskier, rubs his face and sighs. Something is not right. Jaskier shouldn’t be looking this bad with the wounds he has. He considers poison, and sniffs the dagger that the healer had left on a stool, but he doesn’t smell anything.

Jaskier, meanwhile, has started shivering. Geralt hums and gets into the bed, trying to warm Jaskier up with his body heat, and trying not to think about the swooping feeling in his stomach, underneath that tendril of dread. The corners of Jaskier's mouth curl up and he whispers something about Geralt getting in his bed and him getting stabbed sooner. Geralt grunts and secretly smiles into Jaskier's hair.

They are silent for a while, until Jaskier wheezes and asks once again for his lute. Or at least, that’s what Geralt thinks. It’s getting harder to understand him. He’s slurring his words, and his breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

At some point, Jaskier stops responding, and Geralt decides that he needs to do something or else his bard will die. He goes downstairs and asks the innkeeper for a mage. He almost tears up when he is given directions to a Yennefer of Vengerberg. Thank fuck for small miracles.

He gets Jaskier from their room and carries him outside, towards the stables. He needs to saddle Roach, so he puts Jaskier in the grass, with his back against a tree. When he’s done in the stables, he leads Roach out to where Jaskier is sitting, and notices that Jaskier looks a bit better. It seems like he is breathing deeper, and some colour has returned to his cheeks. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, but knows they aren’t out of the woods yet. It’s probably not the best idea to ride a horse with fresh stitches on your leg, but they don’t have a choice. Once again, he lifts Jaskier onto the horse, gets up in front of him, and sets off.

-

It takes thirty minutes to get to Yennefer’s house, and Geralt can tell he was right about the stitches: a small red patch has appeared on the bandage that he can see through the tear in Jaskier’s trousers. He feels Jaskier's grip on him fading and throws an arm back to keep him mounted. When they arrive, his arm is burning, but he isn’t complaining. Jaskier is still on the horse, and Roach has held on for a second tandem ride. He vows to get her some juicy apples and the best oats to thank her.

He leaves Jaskier on the horse and walks over to knock on Yennefer’s door. Well, pound, more like it. He hears Yennefer’s grumbling as she walks over to open it.

“Geralt.” She is surprised, but tries to hide it. She looks him up and down; notices the blood on his clothes, and the fear in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt swallows, and shakes his head to draw her attention to Roach and her rider. “It’s Jaskier.”

Yennefer shoots him a knowing look and walks towards Roach. She asks what happened, and he tells her about the bandits, and the stabbing, and about how Jaskier seems to keep getting worse even though he’s been patched up. Yennefer walks around Roach and studies Jaskier. “You’ll have to carry him inside,” she states, and he does.

The bed he puts Jaskier in is huge. It makes him look all the smaller and more vulnerable. Yennefer waves him away, but he doesn’t go. Instead, he hovers in the doorway, anxious to see what is happening. She walks around the bed muttering spells, waving her hands, and looking more and more frustrated. Jaskier's wounds have all been healed by now, but he’s still in a bad way. Barely moving, face pale, and constantly muttering. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose and mumbles a “for fuck’s sake”.

“What?” Yennefer growls. Geralt tells her that Jaskier is not shutting up about his fucking lute. Yennefer narrows her eyes. “And have you thought to ask him why that is?” she asks, taking Geralt’s evasive “hmm” as the no it is. She grumbles something about witchers and communication, and sits down on the bed, trying to get Jaskier to open his eyes. Geralt surmises that she is trying to read his thoughts. After a few moments, she stands up and commands Geralt to carry Jaskier into the garden. She grabs the blanket from the bed and leads the way out.

Yennefer’s garden is lovely. There’s a little pond, and some trees, a bit of grass, and many flowers. Geralt doesn’t have much time to enjoy it, though, as Yennefer immediately orders him to set Jaskier down and prop him up against one of the trees, and then make a fire. He is careful with Jaskier, but rough and hurried in his search for wood and kindling.

When the fire is burning, he sits down on the ground beside Yennefer and Jaskier, and he can tell that Jaskier is improving right away. He sees the sparkle has returned to Jaskier's eyes, before Yennefer uses a spell to make him sleep and they fall closed. Jaskier breathes freely, and the moon is back to caressing his face with her glow.

Geralt looks at Yennefer as she wraps the blanket around Jaskier and lowers him to the ground. “How?”

She stares at him. “He’s a dryad, you prat. A wood nymph.”

Geralt frowns. That doesn’t make sense. Aren’t nymphs bound to their trees? He is about to say this to Yennefer when he sees Jaskier sleeping curled around nothing, and realises. “His lute?” Yennefer nods.

He looks back to Jaskier, wonder in his eyes. Things are starting to add up now. Why Jaskier was so determined to get his lute. Why he was feeling so bad indoors and improving quickly in nature. Why he treats that lute with so much reverence. It even explains why Jaskier looks so damn pretty whenever they are in a forest or near trees.

Yennefer clears her throat and gives him that knowing look again. He sighs. He’d best make himself comfortable. It is late, he is tired, and they need to give Jaskier time to get his energy back. Yennefer half-heartedly tries to convince him to sleep inside, but he grunts and lies down at Jaskier's feet, facing the fire. She tuts, and heads for the house, but he hears the warmth in her voice as she wishes him goodnight.

-

It’s still early when Geralt wakes up. He leaves Jaskier to sleep some more, and goes to find Roach. He feeds her an apple that he took from Yennefer’s kitchen, and brushes her down, thanking her for her hard work yesterday. He’s nearly done, when he hears soft footsteps behind him.

“Good morning, Geralt,” Jaskier greets him cheerfully. When Geralt turns around, Jaskier offers him some bread and a glass of milk. He tilts his head and looks Jaskier in the eyes as he accepts them. Jaskier looks much better, but there is something guarded in his eyes.

Geralt takes a bite out of the still warm bread, and Jaskier starts chattering about the weather, of all things. This is awkward. He hates awkward. So when he swallows the bread, he breathes in and does what he does best: be blunt. “So… a nymph, huh?”

Jaskier stops talking halfway through a sentence, and looks at the ground, before meeting his gaze again and swiftly nodding. There is a beat of silence, then Geralt shrugs. “It suits you.”

Jaskier positively beams at this, taking a step closer, and... is he reaching out towards him? Geralt takes a sharp breath, but no, Jaskier is just waving his hands around like he always does. He frowns, and grumbles in confusion. Jaskier looks a little confused too, and Geralt needs it to stop, so he blurts out “I didn’t know that was possible, with the lute.”

“Well, neither did I, to be perfectly honest,” Jaskier says, and he launches into an animated story about his youth. About not being able to go farther than a hundred steps from his tree for an extended period of time. He describes being bored and restless, and tells Geralt how he always wanted to travel the world, and to study in Oxenfurt as a child, and how unhappy it made him to know that he never could.

Jaskier spends at least five minutes talking about bribing and blackmailing various people in order to get his hands on any and all information on the connection between dryads and their trees. Geralt can almost see a teen Jaskier running around his home town, threatening to ruin some poor scholar’s career. He tries very hard not to smile at the mental image.

Meanwhile, Jaskier is chattering about nicking increasingly large sums of money from his parents in order to bribe a mage and a woodworker into attempting the cutting-a-lute-from-the-tree-and-binding-Jaskier-to-it-without-killing-him procedure.

“Killing you?” demands Geralt, fixing the bard with a pointed look.

“Oh, yeah,” says Jaskier matter-of-factly, “no one had ever tried that before. It could all have gone horribly wrong. I suppose they just wanted some insurance money, in case they ended up killing the viscount’s and viscountess’ son.” He chuckles humourlessly. “Not that my parents would have cared. And anyway: as you can see, it turned out great.” He grimaces, and not for the first time Geralt wonders about the relationship between Jaskier and his parents.

In the mean time, Jaskier has continued talking his ear off; regaling him with the accounts of everything he got up to once he was able to freely roam the world. Halfway through a story about his admission to the university, Geralt interrupts him again. “Jaskier? Your lute is... not here?”

“Ah.” Jaskier responds. “Yes. I am actually quite aware of that, Geralt, my love.” And, indeed, now that he is paying attention, he sees the tightness in Jaskier's shoulders, and the ever so slight tremor in his hands. “I should be OK for a while, as long as I’m in direct contact with nature, but I’d really like to get her back. Sooner rather than later.” It sounds like a question.

Geralt nods, and swallows. “We’ll leave as soon as possible. I should have taken it. I would have, if I had known.”

Jaskier smiles, and places a hand on Geralt’s forearm. “You couldn’t have known. I never told you.”

-

After a hasty breakfast and a shirt change for Jaskier, they prepare to leave. Most of their supplies are still in the forest, left behind after the bandit attack, so they don’t need a lot of time. Mostly, preparing consists of saddling Roach, preparing her for a third, and hopefully last tandem ride.

Geralt strokes her neck apologetically, and looks up when Yennefer approaches. He almost snorts when he sees she’s holding a flower crown; a purple wreath full of lavender, misty, thistles, and some daisies speckled throughout. When she beckons Jaskier, and places the flowers on his head, she says “Sometimes the best thing a flower can do for us is die”, and Geralt understands. In this way, Jaskier can ride on Roach, while still staying in direct contact with nature, like he said he needs to. And Geralt has to admit, it’s good to see some more colour on the bard. The shirt Yennefer gave him is black, unsurprisingly, and it doesn’t suit him at all.

Jaskier smiles, really smiles, and takes Yennefer’s hands in his own.”Thank you,” he says, and kisses her on the cheek. Then, full of that childlike enthusiasm, he spins, and faces Geralt. “Geralt,” he sing-songs “look at this. Don’t I look pretty?”

Geralt grunts non-committally, but Jaskier is not having that. He all but dances over to where Geralt is still petting Roach. “Geralt,” he whines, “tell me I look pretty.”

Geralt grumbles, “Fine. You look lovely, Jaskier.” and Jaskier steps closer, stands on his tiptoes and oh... kisses him on the cheek. He turns around and says goodbye to Yennefer, and Geralt slowly lifts a hand and touches his cheek, where Jaskier's lips had just been, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

They leave, and for the entire ride, he thinks of nothing but Jaskier’s lips on his cheek, and Jaskier's arm around his waist.

-

They find the bandits near the edge of the forest, not too far from where they had made camp yesterday evening. Geralt leaves Jaskier with Roach, hoping they’ll stay hidden between the trees as he retrieves the lute. He tries to get as close as possible to the bandits without being spotted, in order to see what he’s up against. Apparently he had only killed four of them yesterday, and he sees three more bandits with various injuries, but that still leaves seven opponents. Ten, if the three injured ones are well enough to fight.

He has the element of surprise, and manages to knock two of the bandits unconscious, and break the crossbow they were carrying, before they notice him. Unfortunately, they seem to have learned from the fight yesterday, all of them attacking him at the same time, instead of waiting their turn. Geralt curses, wishing he had checked their old camp for his potions, but there is nothing that can be done about it now.

He focuses his attention on the three bandits that had grabbed a weapon, incapacitating the first of them with an elbow to the chin. He kicks the second one in the back of the knees, and spins to deflect a blow from the third one’s dagger, but it never comes. Instead she seems to have tripped over a root that he doesn’t think was there before. Geralt shrugs. No time to look a gift horse in the mouth. He kicks her in the temple with the toe of his boot, and moves on.

He knocks out two more bandits by slamming their heads into a tree, and then he spots the lute. One of the bandits seems to have grabbed it and is brandishing it as a weapon. Not good. He can’t risk any harm coming to Jaskier’s instrument.

His eyes are glued to the lute, his mind focused solely on how he can get a hold of it, when suddenly there is a strong arm around his neck, and a dagger poking at his side. The man drags him backwards and starts grunting something no doubt very insulting, but before Geralt even has the time to panic he feels the man being pulled off him. He really hopes it’s not Jaskier getting involved, but when he turns he sees no one.

“What the fuck” he grumbles, and the bandits that are still upright seem to share his sentiment.

Then, all of a sudden, the bandit is literally grabbed by a tree. A branch gets a hold of the man’s torso and pulls him back towards the tree trunk. Geralt hears a dry snap, and the man stops struggling.

He swivels his head to the other side, and sure enough, Jaskier is leaning against a tree, fingers on it’s bark, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks beautiful and terrifying at the same time, and in the sudden silence, Geralt hears him softly singing a song of violence and power.

Another of the bandits goes down. Geralt turns back to the fight, and gets closer to the man holding the lute. Close enough to see the realisation in his eyes. To see him look over at Jaskier, whose eyes are fixed on the lute, and back to the trees moving on his command. Geralt’s stomach drops when he hears the man whisper “dryad”. He moves faster.

The man grabs the lute in both hands and brings it down hard on his knee. To his left, he hears Jaskier’s agonised shout, followed by a dull thud as he loses consciousness and drops to the ground.

The fight is over quickly after that. Geralt grabs his sword in a rage, and cuts down the remaining bandits. He slays the lute-breaker last, driving his sword through the bandit’s throat, before cradling the lute in his arms. It’s neck is snapped, the pegbox dangling from the strings.

-

Geralt let’s himself panic for three seconds, staring at Jaskier’s collapsed body, and then forces the feelings back down. He walks over to Jaskier in a few big strides, and kneels down at his side. He listens for Jaskier’s heartbeat, and is slightly reassured when it sounds normal. He still places his fingers on Jaskier’s neck, to be certain. Jaskier is breathing normally, and he doesn’t seem hurt, but for the fact that he is still unconscious. He assumes the cause for this is the broken lute, which is worrying, because he doesn’t know if it can be fixed, and he definitely doesn’t know how to fix it.

The only logical move is to go back to Yennefer and see if she can fix the lute with her magic, but he’s afraid getting Jaskier off the ground is not going to be beneficial to his fragile state. He looks around to see if the flower crown Jaskier was wearing is near, and sees it lying near where he put down the lute.

Geralt frowns. Would Jaskier be able to ride if he was holding his lute? He reaches for the instrument, careful not to damage it any further, and pulls it closer. Next, he takes Jaskier’s hand in his own, and gently folds both their hands around what’s left of the lute’s neck.

The effect is instantaneous. Jaskier takes a deep breath and his eyes start fluttering. Geralt grabs Jaskier's chin, turns his head so that they are facing each other, and softly calls his name, leaving his hand on the bard’s cheek. Jaskier opens his eyes and blinks a few times. It takes him a moment to focus, but then he says “Oh. Hi Geralt.” and he leans into Geralt’s hand, eyes drifting shut again.

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeats, a bit more urgent this time.

Jaskier groans, and keeps his eyes shut. “What happened? Why do I feel like Roach trampled me with her lovely hooves three times over?” Geralt feels Jaskier's fingers move under his own, and sees the start of a smile on Jaskier’s face, when suddenly he freezes and snaps his eyes open.

“How bad?” He’s trying to sit up, but Geralt moves his hand to Jaskier's chest and forces him to stay down. “How bad, Geralt?” Jaskier pleads.

Geralt squeezes the hand that’s wrapping Jaskier’s around his lute, drawing his attention to it. “It’s not good.”

Jaskier turns his head and looks at the lute. A soft keen escapes his throat, and pierces Geralt’s heart. The bard takes a shaky breath, and when he asks Geralt to give him a moment, his voice is shaky too.

Geralt nods, and strokes Jaskier's cheek. He gets up, and decides to have a look around. With a bit of luck he can find most of their belongings either here, or at their old camp. As soon as he turns his back, he hears Jaskier softly start to cry.

He takes his time making his way around the site, taking his cues from Jaskier's hitched breathing. The bandits don’t seem to have taken too many of their belongings. Sure, he sees some of their food, but most of it has probably been eaten. He gathers all the food he can find: the bandits aren’t going to eat it any more, might as well put it to good use.

He nearly snorts when he finds several sets of Jaskier's clothing. Apparently, they were valuable enough to steal. A smile tugs at his lips. Only Jaskier would take to the road wearing nothing but expensive finery.

Geralt goes through the rest of the bandit’s things and finds one of his own knives. He takes it, along with some other items that could prove useful. As he stows everything in a pack, he listens for Jaskier’s breathing, and finds it slow and regular.

Geralt ties the pack closed, hoists it onto his shoulder, and turns towards Jaskier. He finds him in a familiar position: curled around the lute. This time, however, Jaskier is awake. He’s looking at his lute, deep in thought, and running his fingers over the break. As Geralt approaches, he looks up. He tries to smile, and even though his eyes are still red, he looks more determined than sad. “Is my lute case here?” he asks.

Geralt shakes his head. “Maybe back at the camp.”

Jaskier lets Geralt help him up, and leans heavily on him when Geralt leads him to Roach. He holds the lute in both hands, refusing to let the pegbox dangle from the strings. Geralt lifts him onto the horse, and holds on to his leg to make sure he stays mounted.

He hears Jaskier’s breath hitch again, but sees no tears when he looks up. Instead, Jaskier smiles at him, something undefinable in his eyes. Geralt allows himself to smile back before clicking his tongue and leading Roach to yesterday’s camp.

-

In the end, Geralt finds the lute case under a shrub. It is a bit dusty, but unharmed. He also finds some of his own clothes, some rope, both their bedrolls, and a few cooking tools lying scattered around the camp. His witcher potions have unfortunately all been smashed, and his spare blanket seems to have been thrown into the fire.

When he gives Jaskier the case, the bard immediately opens one of the compartments and checks its contents, sighing in relief, and taking out a handful of pale golden granules. “Have you got a pot?” Jaskier asks him, from where he’s sitting near the remains of the fire.

Geralt grabs one that he just found near a tree and hands it over. He sits down and watches Jaskier drop the granules into the pot. sticking a little brush in it, and placing it to the side. He makes a move to get up, but sways dangerously when he moves too quickly. Geralt is at his side in an instant, grabbing his shoulders and stabilising him.

“What do you need?” he asks, and Jaskier asks him to light a fire. When he returns with an armful of firewood, Jaskier has removed the strings from his lute, and is fitting the two pieces of the instrument together, inspecting the result and moving the pieces apart again. He lays the lute down, and looks up at Geralt.

“Could you get me a bowl of water, too? I’d get it myself, but, you know…” he moves an arm up and down his body.

Geralt grunts, walks over to Roach, and grabs his waterskin. When he walks back, Jaskier asks him to sit down with him.

“I’m going to try and glue the neck back together,” he says, and when Geralt raises his eyebrows, he continues “I don’t know if it will work. I only need it to hold together long enough for me to be able to play it. I’m quite sure I could fix it with a song.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Let’s just try it. We’ll panic later if it doesn’t work. You don’t mind giving me a hand, do you?” His eyes grow soft when Geralt immediately agrees to help.

Geralt positions the wood and kindling amidst the ashes of yesterday’s fire. He lights them with a quick Igni sign, and stacks the remaining wood nearby, so they can keep fuelling the fire if needed. Whilst they wait for it to heat, they eat some bread and apples that Yennefer gave them, and Jaskier explains what he’s going to do.

It sounds simple enough. He is going to dissolve the granules, which are apparently the basis for the glue, in some water and heat that. When it’s warm enough, he is going to spread the glue on the break in the lute, and glue its two parts back together.

The trickiest part is going to be the timing, Jaskier explains. They are only going to have a few seconds to properly position the two lute pieces, before the glue cools down too much. To give them a little more time, he places the lute as close to the fire as he dares, so that it is warm when they work with it.

“Oh,” he says, “I need some cloth as well. For wiping off the excess glue. And also for wrapping around the neck after we’re done.”

Geralt grunts, and stands up to rummage through their supplies. They don’t really have a lot of options. There is only some bandages, the bedrolls, and their clothes. He tells Jaskier as much, and grabs the bandages when Jaskier asks. “You’d better not get hurt again,” he grumbles, but there is a smile in his eyes.

Jaskier waves a hand. “Eh. If we can fix the lute, I can fix myself.”

Geralt thinks to himself that he would really like to see that some day. The idea of Jaskier using magic intrigues him; he cannot get the image of Jaskier ruthlessly murdering those people out of his mind.

The fire burns a bit lower now, and the firepit contains a layer of coals, as well as some still burning firewood. Jaskier holds a hand above the coals to gauge the temperature, and seems to find it satisfactory. He looks up at Geralt. “I think we’re good to go.”

He grabs the pot containing the glue mixture, scoots over towards the fire, and places it in the coals. Next, he moves towards Geralt, and gives him the largest part of the lute.

Geralt feels Jaskier’s hands tremble as he hands it over, and he hears a small sigh escape the bard’s lips, but he says nothing, allowing Jaskier to move the lute around so that he can easily reach it with the glue. He wonders about the connection between Jaskier and the lute; whether Jaskier can feel his hands cradling it. And then, with a frown, wonders whether Jaskier could feel those bandits handling it.

He sees nothing in Jaskier’s face as Jaskier tells him to hold the lute steady, before turning his attention back to the pot with glue. He stirs it with the little brush and dips his fingers in to check the temperature and consistency. When he is satisfied, he moves the pot out of the fire, and sits down facing Geralt. His knees touch Geralt’s legs as he grabs the brush and swiftly but surely spreads an even layer of glue on the break.

When the break is completely covered, he drops the brush back into the pot, and grabs the pegbox. He moves around Geralt, so that he is sitting to his side and has a better view of the lute’s neck. He moves closer, leans on Geralt, and takes a deep breath, before very carefully pressing the peg box against the rest of the lute.

“Give me your hand,” Jaskier says, and he makes Geralt press the lute together whilst he wipes the excess glue off with a bandage. Next he repositions Geralt’s hands so that they are wrapped around the break and tells him to hold tightly for a few minutes. His hands remain on top of Geralt's a bit longer than strictly necessary.

Geralt turns his head to look at Jaskier, and he can tell that having to wait without any distractions is making Jaskier very jittery. He’s about to say something when Jaskier pulls his hands back, takes a ragged breath in and tries to stand up again, no doubt to do some pacing around the camp. He’s still quite weak though, so instead he all but falls into Geralt's lap.

“Shit, sorry Geralt,” he says, and tries to get up and hide the faint blush colouring his face.

Geralt hums, and tells him it’s okay and that he doesn’t have to move if he doesn’t want to. This makes Jaskier’s blush stronger, but he doesn’t move, using Geralt's thigh as a pillow and digging his fingers into the earth for a distraction. Geralt wishes he had a hand free to stroke Jaskier's hair.

Either way, Jaskier seems to calm down, and Geralt is sufficiently distracted by Jaskier’s cheek on his leg that the minutes seem to fly by, and before he knows it, Jaskier has pushed himself up to sitting, takes the lute from him and wraps the remaining bandages around its neck, before gently laying it in its case.

“Now we wait, I guess.” Jaskier says, after Geralt has helped him move back from the fire and they’ve made themselves comfortable. It’s still early, only just past noon, which means that Jaskier can try stringing his lute around midnight at the earliest.

Making the most of their time, Geralt sets up the camp properly. He collects some more firewood, walks down to the river to refill their waterskins, and manages to catch a rabbit for dinner. He is enjoying the rest; they’ve earned it.

When he gets back to the camp, about to offer Jaskier some water, he sees that Jaskier is not dealing with resting very well. He guesses he should have expected that. Jaskier is not made for stillness. The bard is still sitting in the same place, shoulders tight, eyes wild, one hand on his lute case and the other digging into the ground.

Geralt approaches him and says his name.

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. “Please distract me, Geralt. I can’t – ugh sitting here and doing nothing is making me lose my mind. Can you… I just need to not overthink things right now. Please?”

Geralt sits down next to him, and gives him the waterskin. “Drink some water,” he grunts, then looks hesitantly at Jaskier and adds “I can tell you about some monsters, if you want?”

Jaskier just nods, and then snuggles into his side. When Geralt freezes, he immediately sits back up again.

“No, it’s okay,” Geralt says, “I was just surprised.” And Jaskier smiles, and drops his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder, as Geralt starts talking about the monsters he’s encountered over the years. When he feels Jaskier falling asleep, he moves the bard so that his head is in Geralt's lap, allows himself to play with Jaskier’s hair, and lets the bard’s breath and heartbeat lull him to sleep as well.

-

Jaskier’s calm mood, which they have spent the entire day cultivating, is ruined immediately when Geralt tells him it’s midnight. He tenses up, but after a few deep breaths the set to his shoulders is more determined than scared.

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s arm, and turns to put some more wood on the fire. When he turns back, Jaskier is already restringing his lute. Geralt can tell he’s holding his breath with each string. What follows next is the most dramatic tuning of a lute that Geralt has ever experienced, and that’s really saying something, because Jaskier does dramatic extremely well.

For once, there are no setbacks. The glue seems to hold well enough.

When he is satisfied, Jaskier wipes his hands on his trousers, takes a deep breath and starts playing the lute. As soon as the first notes sound, Geralt feels the magic around them. The air suddenly seems sweet and fresh, and every deep breath he takes invigorates him. The aches in his muscles are diminished, and his heart somehow feels lighter than it has in a decade.

He smiles at Jaskier, whose face is scrunched up in concentration, the tip of his tongue quickly flitting over his lips, before he starts singing a soothing song of healing and growth. The firelight is reflected in his eyes. There’s a blush on his face, and a soft breeze ruffles his hair, which shines beautifully in the moonlight. Geralt thinks Jaskier has never looked more beautiful, or less human.

The music stops too soon for his liking. He feels dazed, too overwhelmed to do anything but look at Jaskier as he inspects the lute. The song must have worked, because Jaskier looks up at him and smiles. For the first time since the bandit attack yesterday, there is no pain in his eyes.

Geralt tries to smile back, but is apparently not very convincing, because Jaskier’s face falls.

“Geralt?” he says, as he gets up and moves to Geralt’s side. “You’re… are you crying?”

Geralt touches his cheek, and looks at his fingers. Huh, he really is crying.

Jaskier's hands are hovering, hesitating. “Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks, and when Geralt gives a sharp nod, Jaskier places his hands on either side of Geralt’s face, and uses his thumbs to wipe away his tears. Geralt takes a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Jaskier asks, and he nods.

“I feel good. Happy. Just… it’s too much.”

Jaskier’s gaze morphs from worried to painfully soft, and he kisses Geralt on the forehead. “I can sing you to sleep, if you want.” he proposes.

Geralt shakes his head, and puts one of his hands on top of Jaskier's, leaning into it. “This helps”.

Jaskier smiles, and blushes, and says “does it, now?” before kissing him on the tip of his nose.

Geralt’s eyes flutter closed, and a sigh escapes his lips. Jaskier’s resulting smirk settles somewhere in his chest, and he lets himself be directed towards the bedrolls.

Jaskier puts his lute back into its case, hands it to Geralt, and asks him to protect it. “With my life,” Geralt promises, and Jaskier’s breath hitches, and he wraps himself around Geralt. Geralt moves his arm around Jaskier and strokes his back. This is even better than what he imagined. Jaskier is warm, and soft, and he smells lovely.

After a while, Jaskier presses a kiss into his chest. “Better?” he asks.

Geralt hums, which makes Jaskier giggle, and says “This is nice.”

Jaskier presses himself up a bit, so he can look Geralt into the eyes. There is a mischievous sparkle in the bard’s eyes, and his lips are curving up into a smile. “You know that I’m never going to stop cuddling you, now that you’ve admitted that you like it, right, love?”

Geralt grabs his waist and pulls him close. “Good,” he grunts, “Because I don’t want you to.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea of Jaskier being a nymph from the book series The Banned and the Banished, by James Clemens. One of the supporting characters in those books is a nymph (or nyphai) who is the last of her kind. All the others have been corrupted by a disease that rots their trees. She has a lute cut out of her tree before it falls ill, and this allows her to roam the lands, searching for a cure. She can perform magic by playing the lute, and also by making contact with trees and plants.  
> The books are _very_ straight, and definitely not perfect, but they are a fun read, and there are some cool magic concepts in them, so give them a read if you’re interested.
> 
> Also, I’m sorry for insinuating that Geralt is not an idiot; he most definitely is.
> 
> Title from Forest music, by Hannah Flagg Gould.


End file.
